


show me all your sticky tacky lonely

by elainebarrish



Category: Dead To Me (TV)
Genre: F/F, This is Bad, bye, im literally obsessed w both of them, season two spoilers 4 the whole season
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:28:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24228856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elainebarrish/pseuds/elainebarrish
Summary: jen and judy carry on. they keep going, whatever happens, and often that doesn't make sense but it happens. they love each other and they're safe and maybe that means they can be okay
Relationships: Judy Hale/Jen Harding
Comments: 35
Kudos: 249





	show me all your sticky tacky lonely

**Author's Note:**

> OK I LIKE accidentally forgot abt steve AND ben bc im a genius. i basically just made this happen bc every time i see a gif of this show i literally go hhhghrhhgh or something like hork and also both leads should call me and then hang out with me on thursday when im free

She thinks: fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. She pauses. Takes a deep breath. Takes a few. Judy is talking to her and she laughs, laughs at the absolute karmic shitshow of this situation, and reaches for her phone. Dials 911, for herself, for Judy, because, okay, this is just something that she has to get used to doing now, she supposes. She has to get used to living at extremes and being involved in 14 possible accidents a year, or some fucking shit. 

They're fine, mostly. Shaken, sure, but physically fine. Concussions all round but nothing that keeps them in the emergency room all night, and they pick the boys up from Lorna's in Judy's car, and Jen tries not to think about how much safer the one that had crumpled around them had been in comparison. It seems a stupid thing to think when that one's in the process of being written off, when Judy seems excited at the chance to be the one who gets to drive, regardless of what just happened to them. A lot has happened to Judy in cars in the last year, Jen thinks, but she still looks comfortable behind the wheel, still looks like she doesn't mind. Jen figures that must show strength of character, or something (doesn't think about the amount of things that Judy has lived through just because she had to, doesn't think about how she can survive even when lesser people would crumble). 

Judy still needs her, a little, to reach out and put a comforting hand on her forearm, to meet her eyes with a smile, and Jen knows that somewhere deep down at the very core of her she needs Judy like she's never needed anyone in her entire life. No one's ever worked their way through to the depths of her like this before, and it's obvious that she'd never let anyone else. There's a space inside of her that's Judy shaped. She doesn't know how that can be true but it has been, for months now, and she thinks it might always be. There's something about the fucked up situation between them that makes everything more potent, makes it more intense, and she feels for Judy in an intense, passionate way, that she’s realised that these days is hugely characteristic of her. She ignores the small part of herself that speaks in Judy’s voice, the part that tells her it’s because she’s a Scorpio.

They don’t know who hit them but Jen is different now; she’s not about to go on a rampage to find out, not about to devote her energy to being crazy like that, not anymore. She’s angry about it, sure, wants to fight whoever did that to them, whoever did that to  _ Judy _ , but she already knows what it’s like to brain someone and she doesn’t think she wants to do it again. Doesn’t want to enough to find them, enough to go mad at the police department, isn’t repeating any of the things she did after Ted, although she thinks, that night when she’s in bed, that maybe she would if Judy had been anything other than fine, if she hadn’t been able to ask her to stay with her tonight, because she’s worried about her concussion, because she wants her close.

She doesn’t bother to imagine the world where Judy isn’t sliding into bed next to her, doesn’t bother to follow that train of thought, because she knows, now, what it would be like, knows how much she wouldn’t survive it. Seems stupid to indulge her brain when she can just roll over in the dark and feel Judy’s gaze on her, can feel her presence next to her like a warmth she can’t get enough of, a warmth that is irresistible to her.

“You know… Maybe it’s karma,” Judy says, and Jen rolls her eyes.

“Of course you’d say it’s fucking karma,” she takes a breath, lets it out noisily. “Maybe life’s just random, Judy.”

“You don’t really believe that, do you?” she asks and it’s wry, fond, and some kind of exasperated with Jen in a way that she likes, in a way that feels like it’s Judy really seeing her, like she sees all of her and she loves her anyway. It comes with Judy reaching out, comes with a hand curling around her arm, with her shifting closer. They’re always so close.

“It’s fucking ridiculous, the way the last year has happened,” is what she says, instead of saying I wish you were closer, I wish I didn’t love you so much, I wish things made fucking sense.

“Well, exactly,” Judy laughs a little, soft in the dark, and Jen knows her eyes are wide, can sort of almost see her in the dark. “Like it can’t all be an accident, or some kind of coincidence, right?”

“Next thing I know you  _ are _ gonna be leaving fucking crystals in my room.”

“Well,” Judy bites her lip. “There’s a couple in here already,” she admits, slowly, quietly, something like laughter still in her voice.

“Oh come  _ on _ ,” she groans, but she doesn’t really listen as Judy’s voice rises, saying something about what harm could they do, because this is fond too, this pretend fight, this rehashing of old ground. Jen is the angry skeptic and Judy is the believer and between them they muddle along, and they have these stupid conversations in the dark at night and Jen pretends that she doesn’t love every second. Pretends that she doesn’t love every fucking inch of this stupid woman.

“I don’t think they're working considering how we got into a car accident today,” she points out, and Judy shrugs.

“But it could have been much worse. We’re gonna have some nasty bruises and Charlie's gonna be upset about the car, but nothing horrible happened, not horrible like it could have been. Seems like we had a little help, to me." 

"Do they work even if I don't believe in them?" 

"It has nothing to do with whether you believe or not." Judy grinned. "Crystals have their own power, it's not dependent on you." 

"That's good because I'm not fucking convinced." Judy laughs and she rolls even closer, tucks herself under Jen's chin like she belongs there, and Jen doesn't think about how the hand she puts on the back of Judy's neck feels almost  _ too  _ intimate, doesn't think about warmth and how much of it Judy brings, doesn't think about lips pressed against her neck and her breath raising goosebumps. Tries not to think about Judy’s thigh slung across hers, the way that she can tell that Judy is smiling as she wriggles to get comfortable, the kind of thing that Jen thinks she might be playing up to get a laugh out of her, so she does, because she'll do anything Judy fucking wants. She’ll sit awake until Judy rolls away in her sleep for her, she’ll ignore the way her back twinges because she’s so fucking old, she’ll do whatever Judy needs, and she’ll do a lot of things that Judy just wants, even if she doesn’t ask for it.

She wakes up spread out, a vague headache, her hip hurting, her arm flung across Judy, who has her hand curled around her arm loosely, like she was grabbing her even in her sleep, and her heart aches, for just a second, for the way that Judy reaches out for comfort even in her subconscious. Jen knows intimacy, was married for twenty years and had fallen in and out of it with Ted over the time they’d lived in this house, had loved him fiercely and been angry at him, had been betrayed and resentful and had worked on loving even when it was hard, but she’s never known anything like what Judy offers her. It’s different, and she loves all of the ways that it is, thinks something along the lines of the intensity of female friendships, and then realises that she compares her more to the place that Ted had inhabited in her life.

Judy wakes up, and Jen knows because her hand reflexively tightens on her arm before she even knows where she is, and Judy blinks and rolls over, scoots back into her, pulling her arm so she’s pressed against her back. Jen laughs, warm and low into Judy’s ear, and Judy feels it like some kind of electric shock, and she ignores it, ignores it in favour of pretending like the way that she grabs onto Jen is just something that friends do.

“I’m gonna make breakfast, but just give me five minutes first,” Judy mumbles into the pillow, and Jen laughs again, that particular kind of early morning grogginess dulling all of her edges (although Judy’s always been good at that, making her some kind of soft). She buries her face into Judy’s neck, glad she put her hair up before they went to bed, her nose cold against her skin. She tries to breathe, tries not to think about whether her hand is sweating or if she’s pressing too close - sometimes she thinks Judy wants her so close it’s like she’s trying to climb inside of her, anyway, so it’s a stupid thing to have a thought about.

Judy fidgets, a little, murmurs a little “ow”, and Jen almost shoots up to check if she’s okay, but Judy’s hand tightens in hers before she can.

“What is it?” she asks, instead, not moving in case she jostles her.

“It’s just my leg hurting, it’s probably developing a, like, crazy bruise,” she says, dismissive, head still buried in the pillow, ignoring the way that Jen tries to roll her over to look at it. “Stop it oh my god,” she whines, finally letting herself be rolled onto her back, her eyes still closed.

“I’m sure I’ve got something to put on it,” Jen says, and when she goes to get up Judy blindly reaches out, mostly just ineffectually pushing her stomach instead of actually grabbing onto her, until she manages to catch her hand and pull her back down. It’s stupid and playful and Jen isn’t used to it, not yet, not when she lands half on Judy and Judy’s arms immediately go back around her and her face is being pushed into her boobs.

“Being fucking suffocated by your fucking rack isn’t how I was intending to go,” is what she manages to say when she moves so she’s only sort of laying on her, keeping her face buried in Judy’s neck so she can’t see the flush that she knows has travelled up to the tips of her ears. 

“Sounds pretty awesome to me,” Judy replies, nonplussed, and Jen can tell her eyes are still closed, her voice still sleep thick, and God it’s all so fucking stupid, this entire thing, and next time she becomes best friends with the person that killed her husband she’s going to make sure that they’re not hot first.

“You’re gonna let me look at your fucking leg when we get up Judy, I swear to god,” she says, and it’s forceful and Judy laughs like this is normal and whatever and an excellent start to her day, and maybe it is, maybe Jen’s forcefulness is one of the things she likes about her.

“If you wanted me to take my trousers off you could have just said,” she mutters, and Jen huffs because that is  _ so _ not what this is about and why does she have to flirt with her constantly anyway, shut up Judy.

“Fuck off,” she huffs, and Judy just laughs more, and she looks up to see her grinning, one eye half open. She wants to say something like you’re so fucking stupid because you’re making me be stupid, wants to lash out and cut her down like that’ll make her own dumbassery go away, like that’ll make her stop looking at her like she’s the sun. She wants to do something mean, something dumb, and instead she just takes a deep breath, settles her head on Judy’s shoulder, slips her eyes closed for a minute, let’s herself think about how warm and whole and easy everything feels on this morning where half of her body has gone stiff overnight, this morning where she knows she’s going to look in the mirror and see bruising all down her ribs. This morning where she has Judy warm against her, smiling serenely like she’s had mostly okay dreams and she’s somewhere she wants to be, like she’s happy and safe and this day is going to be good. They both have work, both have things they need to do, school lunches to make, but it’s early and sunny and she’s comfortable, and even worrying about Judy’s leg bruises can be put off for five more minutes. 

“I’m thinking pancakes for breakfast,” Judy says, softly and slowly, one hand carding through Jen’s hair, untangling it slowly, languidly, like she can’t really be bothered to move.

“Whatever you want,” Jen says, without thinking, her eyes closed, and Judy doesn’t laugh, like she knows that Jen means it. “Hen will be happy.”

“Yeah he loves my pancakes. Charlie might actually eat one if I slide it over to him and no one looks,” and her voice is full of love for the boys and Jen’s heart does something painful, something like a twist, and all she can think is that she’s so fucking stupid. She’s got a perfect thing right here and she’s just being greedy. She just wants too much. Wants more mornings and evenings and wants that one extra element which doesn’t even mean anything, really, because if Judy was her girlfriend the only thing they’d do differently is Jen would probably be trying to bone her right now, and they’d be laughing because they really do need to get up in five minutes. And that’s not the basis of intimacy, really, and Jen knows that, knows that it’s just that she thinks she needs that from the main source of love in her life, and that’s dumb, in itself, because whether Judy thinks she’s hot or not has nothing to do with how much they love each other (but she really does want Judy to think she’s hot, because she’s about sixteen, apparently). Intellectually she knows that they’re not having sex and they know each other better than her and Ted ever did, even in the beginning when they were in love and obsessed with each other and everything was crazy. It’s just that sometimes Judy laughs and she goes a little insane because of how much she wants to pull her close and kiss her, and it’s a sweeter kind of crazy than she was going before, but she doesn’t know how long she can deal with Judy’s hand burning a hole in her jeans whenever she touches her thigh, doesn’t know how long she can act like nothing’s happening when her skin prickles wherever they touch. 

Her life is beautiful and isn't that just wild considering and Judy’s hip bones sear marks into her palms as she shifts her to the side so she can reach for the peanut butter, and Judy doesn’t even drop the spatula like Jen keeps hoping she one day might. Charlie actually pauses for one second on his way out of the door to shove two pancakes in his face, and the way that Judy’s eyes crinkle at the corners, so pleased her smile maybe makes Jen some kind of lightheaded. They stand there, and Jen reaches out to ruffle Henry’s hair, and they concentrate on that instead of looking at Charlie actually acting like a human being just in case he feels pressured and stops, and Henry’s still young and sensitive enough that he soaks up the attention as the love it is.

Judy turns back to the stove, to make Jen's pancakes because she always does that last, because Jen always pretends she doesn't want them and then eats Charlie's if he leaves them. It's ridiculous, really it is, that she always feels Jen's eyes on her like a physical touch, that she's so aware of her still being close to her, that it's so easy to share in domesticity. She thinks about arms around her from behind and a kiss on the back of her neck, bare today apart from jewellery because her hair kind of needs a wash but can go one more day in a ponytail. She almost burns the pancake, because she’s not paying attention, but Jen deserves better than that, deserves love on a plate, even as she doesn’t listen to her and Henry talking, even as she spaces out.

“Are you okay?” Jen asks, soft, when Henry’s gone upstairs to get dressed for school, one hand on Judy’s lower back, and she tries not to reflexively lean into it, tries not to shiver all over like Jen makes her want to, sometimes.

“Oh yeah, sorry, I was just spacing out for a minute,” she smiles, eyes wide and expression soft when she looks at her, head tilted up just a little because she’s a tiny bit taller when Judy doesn’t have her heels on.

“So long as it wasn’t anything bad,” she says, and kind of squints and tilts her head a little, like she’s trying to work out exactly what Judy’s thinking, and she almost has to laugh when she thinks about how bad it would be if Jen could literally see into her brain.

“No, no,” she rushes to reassure, her smile crinkling her eyes at the corners, because she loves Jen’s concern, loves Jen, loves how close she stands even as she hates it. “Just thinking, I promise.”

“Okay,” she says, eyes still narrowed, and she leans past her to steal a blueberry from where they’re waiting to be plated up with the pancake that she’s just now turning out of the skillet. They eat together, and Jen talks about the terrible people she’s got to try to sell a house to today, and Judy talks about her residents, and it all feels normal, even if Judy wants to kiss her, syrup sticky and sweet, because that’s just become a part of her normal. For them that’s what this is; it’s something like best friends but more like wives, something that’s just waiting for them to become, waiting for them to develop like a polaroid hidden in the dark.

“I’ve gotta go,” Jen says, checking her watch, dumping her plate in the sink, collecting her stuff. “I’ll see you tonight, okay?”

“How about something interesting for dinner?” Judy suggests. “I’ve only got a short day at work today, and I was thinking about swinging by the market.”

“Isn’t it my turn?” Jen asks, frowning, and Judy laughs.

“Probably, but we both know what that means.” 

Jen raises her eyebrows but Judy’s knowing look makes her shrug, conceding the point. “We have had a lot of pizza recently. You know I love everything you make, and I’ll clear up after and then we can drink wine outside and maybe finally actually watch one of those documentaries.”

“Or we’ll just get drunk and fall asleep on the outside sofa.”

“Maybe, we’ll see,” Jen grins and shrugs, kisses her on the cheek on her way out without thinking about it, like that’s what you do with your best friend slash housemate slash co-parent. Wife really would just be a faster way to explain their situation, she muses, as she collects Henry in the hall and they head to the car.

“You know I was thinking earlier and wife really would just be a faster way to refer to you,” Jen says later, apropos of nothing, three glasses of wine deep and with Judy’s hand resting on her thigh underneath the blanket they’re wrapped in. She’s pressed all up against Jen’s side, like they always seem to settle these days, too close for it to be anything but intentional, especially because they always start at separate ends, and then Jen puts her arm on the back of the sofa and Judy leans in for whatever reason and they just gravitate towards each other, Judy’s head coming to rest on Jen’s shoulder like she lives there, Jen’s heartbeat loud under her ear.

“You’re gonna need to come up with a much better way to propose than that, Harding,” Judy says, laughter in her voice, not moving to look at her.

“Oh yeah, because asking you to adopt my kids and live in my house weren’t fucking enough,” she laughs, and Judy looks at her.

“You know eventually you’re gonna meet a nice man and settle down with him, don’t go making any rash decisions about marrying your best friend before that happens,” she grins, and Jen rolls her eyes.

“As if I’m gonna meet a nice man I like as much as you,” and it feels out of character, this admission, like that’s something secret, but it’s not, it’s obvious every time Jen looks at her, it’s written all over her face, something like yearning, something that’s definitely love.

“It’s gonna happen eventually, you’re a whole ass snack,” Judy grins. “But I’ll be your wife for now, until a nice man usurps me.”

“Pretty sure that means you have to move into my room,” Jen says, and Judy laughs.

“You sure you got the drawer space? I’ve seen your closet.”

“More than enough space for all of your prints, babe." 

“You love my prints, admit it, I saw you looking at that skirt the other day.”

“Only because I was wondering if any old guys were gonna have a heart attack from you flashing them that much thigh.”

“Was the slit too much?” she asks, eyes wide, and Jen laughs.

“I don’t think so,” she shrugs, pauses. “Would you really want another big fuck off proposal?” she returns to the previous topic without thinking, catching up, because they’re always like this, falling over each other. 

“I don’t know,” she shrugs, and then her eyes crinkle, her mouth upticks in one corner. “Not from you, because I know you’d hate it.”

“Oh you caught my disdain for flash mob proposals, huh?”

“Literally would have been physically impossible to  _ not _ catch it,” she pauses. “I’d want you to do something that you would want, or something that’s more of a compromise.” This is getting too much, in a lot of ways, this serious consideration, so she hides her face back on Jen’s shoulder and drinks some of her wine even though it’s an awkward angle, and she tries not to look at her or be looked at.

“But what if I just wanted to do whatever horrible fucking thing would make you happy?”

“What if that was just whatever made you happy?” she returns, and she almost laughs at the way that she can feel the frustration in Jen’s body, can feel that part of her that is always gearing up to argue coming alive.

“Judy let someone give you something for once, I’m trying to say I’d do a fucking flash mob for you and you’re too busy doing all of that nice lady shit to notice.”

“Awww, you’d do a flash mob for me?”

“Only once. And only if I already knew you were gonna say yes,” is what she says instead of saying I’d do anything for you, anything to make you stay, anything to make you happy, anything to make you love me.

“Well of course I’d say yes, you can’t say no to a flash mob.” 

“That’s a fucking terrible reason to marry someone.”

“It’s worked out so far since I haven’t married anyone yet,” Judy points out, and Jen rolls her eyes. Jen doesn’t say what she wants to about Steve, doesn’t tell her that she shouldn’t have been with him, that he never appreciated her, that she deserved so much better, because it’s all just a bit late and a bit pointless to talk about it. He’s gone and she doesn’t have to worry about it anymore. Michelle’s gone too, so she doesn’t have to worry about that either, and that one wasn’t even entirely her fault, wasn’t entirely down to the jealousy that had swarmed up her throat and out of her mouth in what seemed like a well reasoned argument. Judy watches Jen finish her glass of wine, her throat moving and her eyes drawn against her will to the movement, and follows her. “Well then come on wife, it’s time for bed.” 

“You gonna get some pyjamas or something?” Jen asks with a wry smile when Judy just follows her into the house, and she shrugs.

“If we’re married then everything you own is mine and vice versa so I figured that means I can raid your pyjama drawer.” 

“Wow you’re very knowledgeable about marriage for someone who’s never done it, aren’t you?” She leads the way upstairs, they take turns in the bathroom, Jen climbs into bed after snapping the light off, and Judy’s already moving towards her, curling into her, and she spends all day marvelling at how warm Judy is and here it’s repeated, here it’s her smile but it’s also just her, the physicality of another body curled into hers. 

“I was gonna make a joke about wifely duties but I can’t think of a way to phrase it that doesn’t make it sound gross,” she murmurs into her neck, already almost sleeping, and Jen has to convince herself not to start like someone’s just shot a gun next to her ear.

“You sound way too tired to be performing any duties,” she jokes, instead, like that’s safe.

“Mmm more like too comfortable. Maybe tomorrow,” she says, and Jen laughs instead of banging her head against the wall, because she can’t think of an excusable way to do that. “Love you,” Judy mutters into her shirt, and she squeezes her in the circle of her arms a little in response. 

“I love you too,” she kisses the top of her head, rubs her back, doesn’t think about how she wishes for bare skin under her palm, doesn’t think about anything, just stares up at the ceiling and tries not to sigh, because she knows Judy will ask if she does, however tired she is.

They continue. Judy parents her kids like they’re her own, and she’s not even angry that they definitely like Judy more because she’s honestly just glad that they have her, glad that Judy has some kids that she feels like are her own to care about, to fuss over, because they’re definitely at least half Judy’s, these days. Most of her stuff ends up in Jen’s room, and it ends up as their room, and the guest house ends up being the guest house again, as in somewhere no one ever goes apart from when they want something they’ve forgotten about. Jen loves it and she also hates it, loves Judy so close but hates it in equal measure, because apparently being a grown-ass person isn’t enough to stop her from yearning, and her brain is loud about it and so is her body, because telling other people that Judy’s her wife doesn’t mean Judy actually believes she is. Judy still seems to believe it’s some kind of fun quirk of their friendship, just something silly between best friends, still believes in their impermanence.

She makes waffles this morning, because she’s figured out that Jen likes them more than pancakes, and the boys just like anything they can cover with syrup, aren’t fussy about their syrup vehicles, and she doesn’t really need to impress them anymore. They love her, she loves them, Jen hardly ever shouts anymore, they’re doing well, but Judy is always filled with a need to make Jen  _ see _ her, even though that’s probably impossible because she thinks Jen is straight, jokes about being her wife aside. If there’s one thing that Judy’s proven it’s that they’re awesome together, but that doesn’t matter when Jen’s just not interested and she should probably stop trying, should probably take herself out of this stupid situation, should probably just rip the plaster off, get it over with, and tell her what’s going on. Maybe she’ll make something fun for dinner, like quesadillas, and make a cherry pie for later, for if Jen gets hungry before they go to bed, and maybe she’ll present her with a slice of pie and a kiss and it’ll all go down swimmingly because Jen will suddenly reveal a never before mentioned interest in women generally, and in Judy specifically. 

“Oh shit I’m late,” Jen mutters, a bit later, and honestly Judy’s been out of it all morning, and she raises her face for the usual kiss on the cheek but Jen’s rushing and she’s aimed badly or she’s just not thinking and the kiss lands square on Judy’s lips instead. It’s a peck, the same one that would have usually landed on her cheek, and when Jen draws back Judy’s interested to note that she’s flushed all the way up to her forehead. “Fuck,” she mutters, unhelpfully. “I have to go,” she continues, even more unhelpfully, and Judy just kind of stares as she basically runs out of her own kitchen.

Jen comes home to dinner five minutes from being on the table, their boys behaving themselves and laying out cutlery, and Judy wearing an apron, which Jen finds extremely cute and then hates herself for because she feels like it’s not very feminist of her. It’s not that she wants Judy to be a housewife it’s just that she wants Judy to be  _ her _ wife, and Judy uses food as a love language, she’s learned, and that’s clear by the loving way that she plates up, the way that she smiles as Jen walks in.

“Hi honey, I’m home,” she says, and circles around the island to get a glass of water, brushes by her, and Judy uses that opportunity to steal a kiss hello, like the accidental one from the morning, a hand gentle on Jen’s hip to steady her, just to see if Jen goes pink again. She does, and she stumbles, too, and Judy’s grin in response is fierce and bright and there she goes again, being the warmest thing Jen’s ever encountered in her entire life.

“How was work?” she asks, like nothing happened, and Jen continues to the sink, and the boys don’t say anything, so maybe it really is like nothing happened. Maybe this is her new normal. They’re going to talk about it, like actually, later, after some wines, probably. 

“You know you never did deliver on those “wifely duties”,” Jen says, later, after some wines, like that’s anything like having a serious conversation about it, and she wrinkles her nose. “You were right there  _ is _ no way to say it that doesn’t sound fucking disgusting.”

“Does that mean that you want that?” she asks, bright and hopeful, in a way that Jen associates with her flirting, associates with that certain slant of her mouth.

“Judy I asked you to be my fucking wife,” she says. “I said I’d do a flash mob for you, I haven’t been particularly fucking ambiguous.” 

“I thought you were straight,” she almost whines it, almost pouting, and Jen sighs.

“Could you just come here so I can fucking kiss you properly,” she says, and Judy grins, sliding across the sofa to her, twisting into her, her hands reaching out.

“We are gonna have to talk about this properly, though.” Judy says, a hand on Jen’s cheek, and Jen rolls her eyes, doesn’t bother with any kind of response, kissing her like she’d been wanting to do for months, arms wrapped tight around her waist, some kind of desperate, like she was just managing to hold on, like she couldn’t live without this for a second longer, or some equally melodramatic bullshit. She pulls her onto her lap like she’s starving, and Judy goes willingly, smiling into her mouth, even when Jen nips at her lip to try to get her to stop, to try and get her to concentrate on the task at hand. She tastes like wine and the bitten remains of her tinted chapstick, like something that feels like hope, smells like sunshine, something metaphorical that represents the future, like something that Jen doesn’t believe in but Judy does. 


End file.
